His Eyes
by mabelreid
Summary: Detective Flack's eyes see more than anyone realizes,especially when it comes to a certain dark haired CSI. One shot. Flackstella Spoilers for All Access


**A/n please don't sue me I don't own anything from CSI NY. Please review and tell me if you like it or don't like it. Any feedback is welcome.**

A woman passing Detective Donald Flack on the street would most likely notice one thing about him, his sea blue eyes. They were startling in their clarity, and their forthrightness. They contrasted beautifully with his dark hair.

Those eyes saw many things, the deception perpetrated by the criminals he hunted, and the beauty of a Manhattan sunrise from his 7th floor walk up. They noticed the children that are abused, and ignored, and they blazed in anger at the injustices of the world.

His eyes noticed a certain dark haired detective. She had lovely eyes of her own, and lately those eyes held sorrow, and anger, and even fear, which was new. She was long and beautiful, with curly hair he wanted to run his hands through.

He'd first realized what he felt for her when he'd busted into an apartment with Mac, and saw Frankie lying on the ground, dead. He'd been confused till he saw Mac turn Stella face up. All of the cuts, and bruises she'd had, had made him angrier than he'd every felt. He'd known that Frankie was responsible, and he applauded her in his mind for killing the bastard. He wanted to reach down into hell, and resurrect the son of a bitch, and kill him with his bare hands.

He didn't stop to wonder where this ferocity of emotion had come from. He could only hope as they all did, that she hadn't been the victim of a sexual assault. Getting beaten within an inch of her life was bad enough; rape was something he couldn't deal with. He knew that Mac would want him to talk to her, and he dreaded it. He wanted to get someone else to do it, but there was no one else.

He'd put on a face of happy ignorance when he'd entered her hospital room, but inside his gut was tied in knots, and he felt like he was going to throw up that whole time he spoke to her. What could he do, there was nothing he could do or say.

When the investigation was over, and he knew what she suffered, and how she'd sliced up her own hands to escape certain death, he again felt the urge to kill Frankie. Instead he went to the gym, and beat up on the heavy bag till his hands felt like they would explode, and his knuckles were bruised. It was a little satisfying though, as he'd imagined Frankie's face on the bag as he punched it.

When she had hugged him after he told her IA had cleared her, he hadn't wanted to let go. The dead look in her eyes had broken his heart. Then she kissed his cheek, and he realized then that there was no going back. He wanted to explore what he felt. He knew she was so fragile, and that he would have to wait for her to pick up the pieces. He wanted to do it for her, but he knew that he couldn't, she had to walk through it alone at least for now.

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Nearly eight months had passed since Stella had killed Frankie, and Flack was giving up hope that she would ever want another man to touch her. The only one she remained close to was Mac; he figured that was because Mac was with Peyton, and therefore no threat to her. Oh, they were still friends, she and Flack, but he wanted more.

His mother fussed over him every time he went home for Sunday dinner. Like any good Italian mother, she noticed the most infinitesimal changes in his appetite, and when her boy didn't wolf down her food like it was going out of style, something was wrong.

She tried everything, bribery by food, threats that ranged from saying he was dead to her, to telling his father. Nothing worked and she was frustrated. He was sorry for this, but he knew what would happen if he told her. She would want to meet this Greek woman that had captured her son's heart. She would interrogate Stella, and make her feel terrible for exciting feelings in her son he didn't understand, or know how to deal with.

Now it was the end of a long double shift. They'd had three murders, and he'd worked one with Stella, accompanying her to a crime scene, and watching her while she worked. Her hair had been pulled back in a messy pony tail, and he loved the look that came into her eyes when a puzzle was before her.

She identified the killer after sixteen hours of back breaking work. She'd gone into Mac's office with her paperwork, and when Don saw her do that he left the building, and stood against the outside wall, waiting for her to come out of the building. He'd decided that it was time to talk to her. Her day off was that day, and he had the day free as well. He was exhausted, and he knew she would be as well, but he couldn't wait anymore.

His eyes watched the foot traffic increase as the sun began to come up over the Manhattan skyline. He scanned the crowds, his eyes watching for street thieves. He could spot a crook a mile away, and headed in the opposite direction. Fortunately he didn't have to chase anyone down, and his pager stayed silent. Finally he saw her exit the building. He peeled his tall form away from the wall, and walked up next to her. He kept his hands in his pockets, and she didn't look at him.

"Hi Don." He could hear the sadness, and the exhaustion in her voice. Maybe this was a bad idea!

"Hey Stel, how are ya doin these days?" She knew what he was asking, and she didn't know how to respond.

"I'm ok, just really tired."

"Listen Stella I -"

"Look Don, no offense, but I really am beat. It's my day off, and all I want to do is go home, and get into a comfy bed, and sleep for at least twelve hours."

"Would you come with me for a cup of coffee first, please? I need to talk to you." Somehow in the last few weeks she had become unable to resist his beautiful eyes

"Okay, but I'm not drinking coffee, I want sleep." They continued down the street to a small café that was frequented by cops and CSIs. Neither of them spoke until they entered "Veronica's Place," and found a table near the back, and next to the juke box that was playing "Tell her about it," from Billy Joel. Don noticed this, and cursed the universe for playing a bad joke.

They sat down and Stella avoided his eyes. She didn't trust herself to look into those blue orbs. Every time she did, she forgot every reason why it was a bad idea to let herself trust, and love someone new. She was so afraid; she'd trusted Frankie, and he'd abused that trust in the worst way possible. She knew that Don wouldn't hurt her that way, didn't she? Who knew about anyone anymore, it seemed like there were more, and more people out there that were willing to hurt you, or kill you for nothing more than cheap thrills, or the change in your pocket.

Why was it that men wanted so much power over women? She couldn't understand it, and then, if you rejected them, they lost it completely, and tried to kill you. Her thoughts were interrupted by Don. "Stella, are ya sure you're okay?"

"You know, I was just thinking everyone is in such a hurry. No one slows down to enjoy life, it's like we all have this unknown destination we're running to. We have to get there before everyone else does. I don't understand it Don."

He didn't understand what she was trying to say, at least not then. A blond waitress with "Sandy" written on the gold nametag she wore sashayed up to their table, interrupting their conversation. "Hi ya Donny, what do ya want this fine mornin?" She was twenty one years old. Her eyes were hazel, and her body was just curvy enough to make the average man drool over his Belgium waffles. In fact Don had drooled over her, and more than once. Lately he'd stopped and she had wondered why. She'd hoped they'd get past the flirting stage, and on to more tangible things. She wouldn't kick him out of her bed, and she doubted there were many women that would. Except for the woman sitting across from him.

Sandy's eyes narrowed as she looked at the tall willowy woman that sat across from "Donny." He was looking at her like she was the buffet table at Caesars Palace in Vegas. The weird thing was that this woman didn't seem to notice. How could she not notice the very hot Detective Flack or "Detective Bedroom Eyes" as the other girls in the café like to call him?

She mechanically took their orders while she thought of all this. His was the same as always, two eggs over hard, sausage, toast with extra butter, and a side stack of pancakes. How could he eat like that and stay so thin? The woman told her "Just toast and orange juice please" in a quiet voice that didn't match her bearing.

She tried to make eye contact again with Detective Hottie, but he avoided her gaze, and she walked away, holding her temper till she reached the counter, then she snapped out the order, taking it out on the poor short order cook. The kid was maybe twenty with red hair, and freckles and a huge crush on Sandy. She ruined his day.

All of this took place beyond the notice of Flack and Stella. They seemed to be in a world of their own, or rather two worlds of their own. Flack didn't know how to bridge the gap between them.

He wanted to spend time with her, maybe taking in a Mets game, or sharing a red hot at Coney Island while they rode the rides, and enjoyed the sunshine of a bright summer's day. He wanted anything but to just share evidence, and crime scenes.

Sandy returned with their order, and slammed his plate down on the table much harder than he thought was necessary. She glared at Stella, and left him wondering what was wrong with her. She was usually bright and flirtatious. Now she was shooting daggers his way. He figured he'd better watch his back as he left. He knew better than to mess with a girl from Brooklyn.

Stella hadn't spoken during the time it had taken to get their meals, and now she was just poking her toast, and ignoring her juice like it wasn't there.

_Okay Flack, it looks like it'll be you to put it out there. You better do it now before she leaves_.

"Stella," she didn't acknowledge him.

"Stel," he raised his voice a little and she jumped.

"I'm sorry Don, where you saying something?" Her hands were nervously shredding the toast to bits. Sandy may have thought she was clueless about Flack, but she was wrong. Stella looked into those beautiful eyes, and saw something she'd never taken the time to notice until that moment. It scared her and she wanted to run away.

He knew what she was thinking. She'd gotten the deer in the headlights look in her eyes, and he could see she wanted to bolt.

"Stella, please don't leave." Don never begged anyone to do anything, especially not a woman, but he would go down on his hands and knees if only she would stay for just a moment.

"Don… please I don't…"

"Stella let me just ask you one question, please."

She found that she couldn't look away from those eyes, and surprisingly she didn't want to. "Okay Don," she said softly, and he was rocked back by the tears that began to fall from her eyes.

"You remember when I had to question you about Frankie, and what he'd done to you. I asked you how your fingers had been cut. You didn't remember at first, and then you told me about using a razor to cut through the restraints he used."

The tears were falling faster, and she wanted to shout at him to stop, to shut up, she didn't want to be reminded that she almost died at the hands of someone she once loved.

"You did what you had to do to live Stella, somewhere deep inside you wanted to live, so you literally shredded your fingers, to stay alive. Then you pulled the trigger, not once but three times. That's the Stella I know, the one I've fallen for. You are still the same person, down deep inside. You're beautiful, smart, and strong willed. I just want to know if you can give us a chance. Will you let me show you that not all men hurt, or kill?"

She felt something break loose inside of her, something that she hadn't felt in a long time, and she was afraid. She looked into his eyes, and he knew she was going to leave. She stood, and without a word she was gone into the Manhattan morning, leave only the scent of roses she wore behind her to haunt his waking hours, and his dreams.

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He opened the door to his apartment and threw his jacket on the couch. His head was pounding so hard that he could hardly see straight. He wanted a beer and his bed. He didn't know what he was going to do now that he messed it up with her. Maybe she would tell Mac and he'd have to face the Lieutenant's wrath. Mac scared him, maybe it was that he was an ex-Marine, Flack didn't know. He just knew he didn't want to ever get on the man's bad side.

He went into the kitchen, and pulled out a bottle of beer, opened it, and went back to his dark living room. He didn't know why he was sitting up alone in the dark, obsessing about her. There were other woman who would fall into his bed without much urging. She'd walked out on him; it was as good as a signed document, that she didn't want him. Damn her, where did she get off treating him like that, it hadn't been him that had beat her, and tried to kill her…

His phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, and nearly refused to answer it, but something made him say "Hello Stel."

"Don… I'm sorry, can we start over?"

He felt his world slide back into focus. His eyes, the ones that saw more than anyone ever knew, closed in relief.

"Yeah, Stella I'd like that!"


End file.
